She smiled full-on, then. No shortage of glee hidden in that halogen-bright grin; Lizzie took full and thorough pleasure in watching him twist in the wind a bit. He wasn't dead, brilliant, but hurting she didn't mind nearly as much. "And let you, what? Return to equilibrium? Is all the piss and vinegar not you at all, just booze or needles or whatever it is you jam up there? Interesting."
Saul as Saul, trying his absolute damnedest to pound at his chest and intimidate. She plucked the empty glass from his outstretched hand, but only went so far as to deposit it on the bed beside him, stepping back to smack ungently at his covered feet before Lizzie herself had room enough to sit. "Disappointing," was the quick amendment, but it was equivalent of a verbal shrug. He'd fallen off his own pedestal and she'd grown up over the intervening years, any sense of hero worship long rubbed away. Considerably less investment, then, and even less when it was shoved to one side to make room for the same looking-over she offered to anything approaching work. The Gryffiths smile dimmed. Did not, however, altogether disappear.
"Who was the man trying to make a scarf of your intestines?" And a pair of ear-warmers from Saul's lungs, but better to not think over-hard on the full picture. She wanted to go back to sleep, not make a mad dash right back into accommodating nightmares. Smile harder, Gryffiths. Keep it up and you might convince yourself. "You already burned through the freebie, Cain. Give me something and I'll look into finding you a fix."